The wind blew past his face as he shot an invisible tentacle towards a nearby roof. He softly landed on the ground and then started to run frantically— with only a pair of underwear. In the distance behind him, he could hear shouts and felt curious looks pierce his skin— but ignoring all of that, he ran.

The gravel pricked his feet and his breaths became more labored. Every now and then there were shouts and yells behind him. But they only made him run faster. Every single muscle fiber in his legs was fried. He winced.

At one point his run became less graceful— his heels slamming the gravel roads like sledgehammers. Every now and then he would hear laughs from behind him, and he would have no time to even grumble.

And then he ran into a corner.

Frantically his head turned around and up, scanning every single brick on the walls around him.

“#@!$ #@ !” A voice exclaimed from behind. He turned around.

A cacophony of metal clinked and shuffled behind him and he knew—

His gig was up.

One of the men, dressed in heavy plated armor and wielding a heavy spear, yelled.

“@!#@! !”

Lining his sides were a row of spearmen who slowly advanced— and behind them were a row of unarmed people with stony expressions. All of a sudden, while standing still, his feet lost balance.

He stumbled forward and looked back at his feet in astonishment.

The ground, once solid stone, was turning to quicksand— he was being swallowed up by the earth and immobilized.

There was nowhere left to run.

And then a bolt of realization struck him, causing him to laugh his guts out. Just for a moment, the stone-faced men stopped. They looked at each other in confusion and then back at Yaaro.

And that moment of hesitation was enough.

The laughing boy in front of them suddenly stood still, then launched into the sky, gliding over the rooftops— and disappearing from sight.

----------------------------------------

Half an hour later, Yaaro traversed the rooftops fully clothed— courtesy of some clothes he stole from the market. Occasionally he would break out into a grin, thinking about his grand escape.

Only after being backed into a corner did it occur to him that he could use mana instead of running. So he used two tentacles and simply lifted himself off the ground— and ever since then he had been sneakily traversing the rooftops.

He approached one of the grand buildings he’d seen from the wall and now that he was closer he could see a lot of people with the same clothes moving in and out.

An adventurer’s guild? He wondered, No, they’re all wearing a uniform… Maybe it’s a school or a University?

The building standing in front of him was grand, resembling a European palace made of red brick. At the top of the arched entrance, were letters in a strange alphabet. Looking around, there were many people wearing the same white uniform, weaving in and out of the entrance.

Awkwardly he walked inside, ignoring the multitude of gazes on him. Once inside, the receptionist looked at him with an awkward gaze.

“Hi. I want to join.” He asked, using his enhanced speaking skill. Getting information would be easier if he joined, he reasoned.

The receptionist’s eyes widened and she enthusiastically handed him a sheet of paper, “##@!$%”. She said.

But the words on it were in an unknown language. He simply pushed the paper back and said,

“I don’t know how to read. I want to join now.”

The receptionist hastily fiddled with something beyond Yaaro’s view and then had a hushed conversation by herself.

“$!@!@~`\#\/.” She nodded and pointed to a hallway.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Could you show me where it is?”

“#@!{ !” She got up with a smile.

Down the hallway they went. The lady showed him a door and led him to sit on the benches to its side.

And then she left, leaving nothing but silence. Like that, half an hour had passed by in silent anticipation.

So when the door finally opened, Yaaro stopped twiddling his thumbs and stood up with relief. He brushed his ragged clothes and patted his frizzy hair because the person who’d walked out of the room was a grumpy old man with deep wrinkles.

His hair was white as snow and he wore a thick rimmed pair of spectacles. The grumpy old man looked at Yaaro up and down and huffed. He turned back, walked into the room and slammed the door shut.

Yaaro knocked on the door politely. There was no response. He knocked again to no response. Screw it. Instead of waiting for them to come out and beg for a chance, he opened the door and walked in. There were five grumpy old men inside, sitting on a long table with 8 chairs. And they all stared at him in shock and outrage.

“I want to join this University. Please. Allow me to—”

“You can use the voice?” One of the old men asked, his outraged expression quickly giving way to surprise. The words of that unknown language entered his ear. And although he couldn’t understand it, he understood the intent. This was the same thing Ariadne had done.

“Is what I’m using called the ‘voice’?” Yaaro asked.

The old men all laughed in response. Some slapped their knees and others were more subdued with their chuckles. When the laughter died down, the same old man looked at Yaaro with a warm gaze,

“Yes, it is called the voice. But more importantly” The old man asked, “Are you the one who asked to enter our University?”

Yaaro nodded, “That’s me.”

“Your name?”

“Yaaro.”

“Yaaro.” The old man acknowledged, “Yaaro, usually the University of Tuszeldwarv has a standard we adhere to. Putting it kindly, we don’t accept people of your status. But you can use the voice.”

People of your status

His gaze drifted to his clothes. Despite his misgivings, he could sense that the conversation was heading in the right direction. Additionally, he made a mental note of the name of the University. The name of the city appeared to be Tuszeldwarv.

“There are not many people who can use the voice. So in your case, we can make an exception.”

Yaaro nodded while listening to the man continue, “You are hereby instructed to head to the admissions hall.”

Yaaro bowed, “Thank you.”

“Ah before you leave.” The old man said, prompting Yaaro to turn around.

“Although we provisionally admit you, you can only be allowed once you pass the test.”

“Alright. Thank you. By the way” He almost forgot to ask the most important question, “Will there be lodging and food provided by the University?”

Again a round of laughs ensued. “Of course! To suggest anything otherwise would be a slight to us!” The old man said.

Before he could leave, the old man stopped him again.

“One more thing.”

“What is it?”

“Sometimes it is better to bow your head and live to see another day.”

Yaaro furrowed his brows, puzzled by the seemingly strange advice. But he quickly discarded it. What was the point of worrying about things you couldn’t understand?

As he was about to leave the room, he quickly turned around.

“I have a question if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Please, go ahead.”

“Do you know where Mount Zermat is?”

A chorus of laughs erupted again. Some slapped their knees harder. The old man who he’d been conversing with tried to form an answer, but he couldn’t speak through his fits of laughter.

Yaaro stared at the scene gobsmacked. Had he really asked such a hilarious question?

Before the laughter had even died down, the old man struggled to answer, “Even a child knows where it is!”

Yaaro furrowed his brows, “I don’t know where it is.”

Another one of the old men answered in his stead, “Naturally Mount Zemat is in the only mountain range on the continent!”

His brows furrowed deeper. He felt as if he were conversing with a group of trolls who only spoke in riddles. Why couldn’t they simply provide him directions?

“Where do I go from here?”

“By?”

Yaaro furrowed his brows, unable to understand the old man’s simple remark. He asked for clarification and received another round of laughter in reply. Frankly, he was growing tired of it. Back on Earth, he had the habit of entertaining people. But none of them laughed as much as this.

Arrogant pricks, what’re they laughing at?

“By what mode of transport?” The old man clarified through peals of laughter.

Yaaro calculated his possibilities. He couldn’t afford another round of laughter, so he simply threw the first thing that came to mind,

“By foot.”

Another round of laughter. The way they laughed— it seemed like he was going to witness death by laughter.

“Ask any coachman, they will—” The old man stopped talking to catch his breath, “They will help you more than we can.”

“Thank you.” He quickly bowed and left the room. As he walked to the admissions hall, a tinge of pity budded in his heart.

Poor old men. They must’ve gone senile.

Soon, he gazed at the plain door of the admissions hall.

Find out where this village is, learn some magic, sightsee, then go home. A good plan.